last days in jolo

There's a lively discussion in Facebook and blogs right now about the old Jolo, Sulu. My brother, Noel and some of his Elementary and High School Classmates and friends from Notre Dame of Jolo (circa 60's & 70's) are seriously at it. It's a mix journey through history of places, people, things, tastes and activities. Though I spent less time in Jolo than my kuya did, I have some vivid recollections of the old town as well. Especially the last few days of our stay there in 1974 when the then ideological MNLF “invaded” the town and surrounded 4th Brigade.

This is a first installment. No thought has been put in to consider style, tone or choice of words.

The events that started in 07 February 1974 have changed all of our lives. It was such a catastrophe. The whole Jolo population was displaced, went wandering, and altered the courses of their lives. It was such that it became my topic twice over when High School English teachers in Claret and Ateneo de Zamboanga required us to write the ever platitudinous theme “My most unforgettable experience”. I remember keeping those poorly written and poorly graded “Theme Writing” notebooks. But I've lost them through the years. I am sorry if there are omissions and inaccuracies in my story. I will just tell it like i remember it. Anyway, here are some of my recollections...

A week before that fateful day in February 1974, classes in Notre Dame of Jolo Elementary School were called off due to persistent rumors that the MNLF would seize the town proper. I was 11 and in 6th Grade My classmates and I were looking forward to Graduation Day. We remembered receiving plenty of gifts when we finished Kindergarten under Sister Ursula. Surely, finishing Grade Six would be no different. But no classes, no final periodical tests and no graduation. I wonder now how many of our classmates really deserved to be promoted to high school. I never really understood why and what it meant, but the buzz word then was “mass promotion”.

The eve of the “attack” was just like any other night in Jolo. The sounds of 105, 155, mortar, 30 or 50 caliber machine gun, Armalite or Ghalil fire lull us to sleep almost every night. But the next morning, I could sense something different. People were frantic, in a rush, Mama told me to pack and pack light. We had breakfast with 5 guests in the underground dining room of the new De Las Peñas Lodge, an 8-month old hotel/lodging house with the mezzanine as our residence.

Then it was confirmed. The MNLF led by Hajji Ban(a distant relative through intermarriages) was inside Jolo proper. Has surrounded 4th Brigade near the airport. Near the De Las Peñas Lodge. The military has started to launch M79's in an attempt to raze the houses around the airport and thus flush out the rebels. As the fires begun, Papa went to the nearby fire department. A fireman was there and they drove the fire truck to where the fire was raging. They managed to douse some of the fire as the truck dried out.

Meanwhile back home, Mama, Auntie Neneng and the rest packed the lodge's stocks of food into sacks. Some clothes and other belongings went inside blankets tied at the ends. Buckets were filled with water to be used against the impending fire. Papa brought me up to the 2nd floor to help in shattering of jalousies windows so we could splash water from buckets onto the nearing fire. Then from no where, a spray of bullets zinged over our heads and 50 caliber slugs bounced on the floor. An army helicopter was hovering, targeting any indication of movement in the buildings below. Papa picked up a slug and showed it to Mama, it was still hot.

My Father was like a man possessed intent on saving the property. Understandably so. All their lifetime savings went into the construction and completion of the hotel. Plus they took out a character loan from either the Notre Dame Credit and Cooperative Union or the Oblates(I'm not so sure now). It's called a character loan since the provision for a collateral was not included. So there he was, doing everything to prevent it from being engulfed by the fire.

All of us moved to the tennis courts nearby. Me lugging a few clothes inside my brown school bag. The sacks and bundled-up blankets were there too. Hundreds of other people were also in the tennis courts. They were the first ones to lose their houses. We were in the open, oblivious to the machine gun fire around. The hotel looked majestic in front of us. Its apple green walls contrasting with the black smoke behind it. Tears were uncontrollable. Everybody I knew was crying; aunts and uncles, cousins, even our hotel guests. Slowly, the asbestos walls begun popping and tongues of flames can be seen through the holes. I felt so helpless.

Then we got the surprise of our lives. Enrique Carpizo De Las Peñas, barefoot and carrying 2 buckets of water was suddenly seen on the roof. He emptied the buckets onto one area of the roof. Then tried to head below to get more water. I was screaming my lungs out. Please Papa, come down now! What could you do with 2 buckets of water against an angry hell? With blistered feet, Papa appeared beside us. Tears running down his cheeks. Arms around each other, we watched in silence as the flames totally swallowed their lifetime dream.

Thanks for reading. Will post more to continue soon.